The Rules
by paperstorm
Summary: Dean thought having Dad back was what he wanted, but keeping his hands off Sam might be harder than he thought. Next in my Deleted Scenes series, sequel to Overdue. Takes place after 'Dead Man's Blood', 1x20.  Wincest, but not graphic.


**Contains dialogue from "Dead Man's Blood", which belongs to Eric Kripke, Cathryn Humphris and John Shiban.**

******Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)**

* * *

As Dean turns the tap off and starts to shake his hands dry, he hears a harsh cough echoing from the main area of their motel room. Silently, he toes open the door and steps out of the bathroom in time to catch Sam rubbing at his throat and coughing again, his eyebrows knit together in obvious discomfort as his fingers press into a few spots on his neck. He hadn't done that once on the ride home, which Dean now realizes meant Sam was trying to hide the fact that he was in pain. And that realization really, really won't sit right in Dean's stomach. Sam probably thinks that, because Dad's back now, he needs to toughen up so he'll stop getting treated like a kid.

And honestly, he isn't wrong – Dad would be all over it with his 'rub some dirt in it' attitude if Sam started complaining about what John Winchester, Ex-Marine, would consider a minor injury. But Sam shouldn't be hiding an injury from _Dean_, even a small one. They made a silent agreement a long time ago to throw that stupid marine-code of Dad's out the window and let each other know when they're hurt. And now that Dean has a second to think about it, that dick vampire did have his arm clamped _really_ tightly around Sam's neck. It probably hurts a lot more than Sam's letting on. Dean scowls and feels his protective impulses flair in his chest.

The vampire is dead, so really it doesn't matter, but Dean knows he'd definitely feel better about the whole thing if he'd been the one who pulled the trigger and saved Sam. He's the one who's supposed to protect Sammy, not Dad. Dad's been off doing who knows what for the past year, and _Dean's_ been the one keeping Sam safe. It's been that way their whole lives. Dad's always had more important things to do than take care of Sam, that job's always fallen on Dean instead, and he _likes_ it that way. It's a little twisted, maybe, but there isn't much about Dean's relationship with Sam that _isn't_ twisted, and he's okay with that. It's how they work. So it hurts a little that Sam's keeping an injury to himself.

"You okay?" Dean asks, deciding to stop spying after a minute of watching Sam poke at himself and attempt to suck it up.

Sam turns around quickly, his eyes wide in surprise as he sees Dean leaning against the wall.

"_Shit,_" he breathes on a shaky laugh, "you scared me. Didn't hear you come out."

"I know." Dean raises an eyebrow. "Why didn't you tell me your neck hurts?"

Sam's face falls a little and he sighs. "I … it's fine. I'm fine."

"Dad isn't here, Sam," Dean says quietly.

Sam just shrugs and turns away from Dean again, grabbing his duffle bag and pretending to search for something in it. Dean isn't fooled for a second. He knows Sam too well for that.

"Will you at least let me look at it?"

Sam's shoulders tense up a little but his hands don't stop fake-rummaging through his bag. "It's just a little sore. It's nothing."

Dean rolls his eyes even though he knows Sam can't see it. The kid is as stubborn as a bull sometimes. Dean moves over to where Sam's standing and grabs a handful of his red t-shirt so he can tug his brother around to face him.

"C'mon, tough guy, let me see," he insists, reaching up and running his fingers over a quickly blossoming ring of bruises. Sam hisses slightly in pain as Dean presses his fingers into the purpling flesh. Dean's own throat tightens in sympathy, but he keeps kneading as gently as he can, making sure there are no hard spots that might indicate something worse than just a bad bruise. It seems fine, though; probably gonna hurt like a bitch for a day or two but nothing Sam can't handle.

"I think you'll live," Dean pronounces, patting Sam's elbow.

"Like I said," Sam mutters, trying to turn back around but Dean stops him with a firm hand on his chest.

"Look, just – I know things are a bit weird with Dad around, but don't hide from me, okay?"

Sam's eyes dart to the window for a second, toward where Dad's truck is parked, but then he manages a small smile. "It only hurts when I breathe."

Dean snorts and shakes his head. "Yeah, alright, Rambo. Whatever you say."

Sam grins down at him, an actual smile this time, and Dean can't help brushing a thumb over Sam's cheek and leaning in to place a quick kiss on Sam's lips. But before he can manage it, Sam's pulling away.

"Dude!" he cries, "Dad's right outside!"

"No he isn't, he's getting a room. I saw him walk by the window like five minutes ago."

"I – yeah, I know, but – " Sam splutters, but doesn't get the chance finish his sentence before they hear footsteps just outside their door. Sam leaps away from Dean like he just got burned and shoves his hands back into his duffle bag. Dean rolls his eyes in exasperation, but follows Sam's lead and starts tossing things into his own bag just as the door creaks open and Dad steps into the room.

Dean takes a quick glance over at Sam before he turns around, and oh for fuck's sake. There's this undeniably guilty expression all over Sam's face, like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and there's no way Dad won't notice. Hopefully he'll misinterpret it as guilt for making them use a bullet from the Colt.

"So boys," he begins slowly.

"Yes sir," Sam answers.

"You ignored a direct order back there," Dad continues, and Sam mumbles "Yes, sir," again.

"But we saved your ass," Dean cuts in, and then he can feel the incredulous look Sam shoots at him burning through the side of his skull.

Dad looks for a few seconds like he's trying to decide whether or not to bite Dean's head off, but then he just sighs and the words that come out of his mouth are absolutely the last thing Dean expected to hear.

"You're right."

"I am?" Dean asks carefully, swallowing loudly and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"It scares the hell outta me. You two are all I've got. But I guess we are stronger as a family." He smiles a little and out of the corner of his eyes Dean can see Sam nodding in agreement.

"So we go after this damn thing, together."

Sam repeats an almost scripted "Yes sir," and this time Dean says it with him, but inside he isn't really sure what to think. On one hand, he wants more than anything to find the thing that killed Mom and send it back to Hell where it belongs, but on the other hand? Dean can't help being a little worried about how Sam's gonna take this.

"Alright, well that's that," Dad says, clapping his hands together. "I got a room a few doors down. You boys get some sleep, okay? We'll start fresh tomorrow."

Dean nods again and Sam doesn't say anything, but Dad just offers them a crooked smile and leaves, shutting the door behind him. Dean watches him pass by the window again, and then pulls the drapes closed, careful not to upset the salt lines. He locks the door and then blows a breath out through his nose and doesn't turn around for a moment. Sam's always insisted that he wants to be there for the big showdown, but Dean also knows how much Sam's going to hate living with Dad again. And honestly? He's beginning to see Sam's point. They've only been back with Dad for a day and already it feels like he's starting to come between them. When he does glance over his shoulder, Sam is sitting on the edge of the bed, picking absently at a scab on his hand.

"Sammy," Dean begins quietly.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam cuts in, still not looking up. "This is a good thing."

"Yeah, I know it is. So how come you look like someone just kicked your dog?"

Sam laughs quietly. "I don't know. Just, things are gonna be different for a while. But I guess that's okay."

Dean takes a deep breath and then moves to sit beside Sam. "It might be longer than a while. Are you … I mean, you really didn't want to start hunting with Dad again."

"But I want to get the thing that killed Mom and Jess," Sam says determinedly. "So if this is how it has to be for now, I can deal."

"We can still be us, you know?" Dean says, knowing exactly what Sam's worried about. "I mean, we'll have to tone it down a bit, but …"

"Yeah, I know." Sam smiles and reaches over to squeeze Dean's hand. "We'll figure it out."

Sam's gaze is steady and his smile looks genuine, but there's something in his voice that makes Dean think Sam doesn't really believe the words that are coming out of his own mouth.

"We _will_," Dean says adamantly.

Sam nods but he still looks sad and a little lost, so Dean shifts a little closer and presses a kiss to the corner of Sam's mouth. Sam doesn't pull away this time, but he tenses up again.

"Sam, he's like three rooms away," Dean sighs. "The curtains are closed, the door is locked. You saw me lock it. Look, I know things are gonna have to be different but you can still let me kiss you when he's not here."

"What if he comes back?"

"He's not gonna come back. And even if he did, he's still have to knock, at which point I'm pretty sure we'd stop kissing before we opened the door."

Sam exhales heavily and drops his head back. "Look, I just... I really like the way things are with us right now. I'm happy with you. I don't want him finding out and taking it away from us."

"He isn't _going_ to find out," Dean insists. "We just have to be careful right? Like when we were kids. And y'know what, even if he did find out, he couldn't take this away from us, okay?"

Sam frowns a little and meets Dean's gaze again. "You mean ... if he catches us, you'd...?"

"It wouldn't change anything," Dean says. "I'm not giving you up, not for anything. Not even Dad."

"Oh." Sam's expressions softens just slightly, like he was actually worried about Dean leaving him if they got caught. "What do you think he'd do?"

Dean shakes his head. He doesn't even want to think about it. "I have no idea."

"You don't think he'd, like, actually kill us, do you?"

"No," Dean laughs humorlessly. "He might disown us though. Or try to exorcise us. He wouldn't understand anyway, I mean how could we even begin to explain it to him, y'know?"

"Yeah."

"This ... what we do, it's ..."

"I know," Sam agrees. "Don't think anyone would understand. Do you, um, do you ever wish we weren't brothers? So we could just be ... the other stuff?"

Dean considers Sam for just a second before he answers, but he's a million percent positive about it when he answers. "No. No way. This thing, it works for us. Even if no one else gets it."

Sam nods, but then he sighs again and rubs tiredly at his eyes. "Why are you so calm about this? I thought when Dad came back you'd be the one freaking out about him finding out."

He has a point. When they were kids, Dean was always the one insisting they be ridiculously careful; always worried that if Dad caught them he'd put the blame on Dean and take Sam away from him.

"I'm just trying to be realistic," Dean says quietly, standing up and taking a few steps away from Sam. "Dad says he's closing in on the demon but you know as well as I do that doesn't mean anything. It could still be a long time before this is over."

"Yeah. I know."

Dean turns back around and tries to keep his voice casual. "I can live with cooling things down a bit, but I'm pretty sure I can't go weeks at a time without touching you."

Sam glances up at Dean from under his bangs and smiles softly. "Me neither."

"Okay, so … what do we do?" Dean leans the small of his back against the counter by the sink and crosses his arms.

"We … I guess we have to keep our hands to ourselves around Dad."

Dean chuckles. "That's a start. And we'll have to make sure Dad always gets his own room, 'cause, god, I so couldn't sleep next to you with Dad right there in the other bed."

Sam snickers and shakes his head, tossing his long bangs into his eyes. "Oh god. I can just imagine. We'd wake up all over each other and Dad would have a coronary."

"That'd be a fun trip to the hospital," Dean jokes and Sam laughs loudly.

"You can't stumble into the shower with me in the morning when you're still half asleep," Sam says, counting off on his fingers. "If we both come out of the bathroom wet he might have a few questions."

_Damn_. Dean knows he's right, but it still sucks. The only thing more delicious than a naked Sam is a naked, wet Sam.

"Yeah, alright, fine," Dean grumbles playfully. "You're gonna have to stop glaring and getting all pissy when waitresses hit on me."

Sam stops laughing abruptly and his mouth falls open. "I don't do that!" he protests.

"Dude, you so do," Dean laughs.

"Okay, well then you're gonna have to stop sleeping in my hoodies," Sam shoots back, his eyes smiling.

"What? No!" Dean groans. "They're so friggen' comfy."

"That's because they're two sizes too big on you." Sam's smile widens to the thousand-watt level, the kind that crinkles his eyes and lights up his whole face, and he stands up. Dean reaches out and hooks a finger through one of the belt loops on Sam's jeans. He pulls his smirking little brother in closer and flicks a few strands of hair out of Sam's eyes.

"And they smell like you," he murmurs, bumping his nose against Sam's.

Sam leans in the last inch and kisses Dean, soft and warm. Dean feels the instant swell of arousal like he always does when Sam's this close to him, all that heat radiating through layers of clothing. It's almost stifling, like being in a steam filled bathroom, and suddenly it's really hard to breathe. Sam's tongue pets gently against his and Dean's whole body quivers, responding to Sam's on autopilot like it's been trained to do his whole life. This probably wasn't quite what Dad had in mind when he taught them to always be in tune with each other, but hell if Dean cares what Dad thinks right now. All he knows is that his body unconsciously knows exactly how it fits against Sam's, and that it feels damn good to have Sam's hot mouth all over his own.

He slips his hands around Sam's neck and tangles his fingers in the kitten-soft curls at the base. He's always loved that spot; the hairs are so boyish and vulnerable and everything he loves so much about his little brother. Sam's lips slide gently against Dean's and he can't hold back a needy moan when Sam's big, warm hands slide under the hem of Dean's shirt and rub circles into his hips. Dean loves those hands too. So strong and powerful and so freakin' talented that sometimes Dean gets hard just thinking about them; how they look against his pale skin and the incredible things they can do to him; palms the size of the impala's headlights; and long, slender-but-strong fingers that can do wonderful things to Dean when the timing is right. Too bad it's not.

Extremely reluctantly, Dean pushes at Sam's chest and manages to detach their lips enough to gasp for breath. "We gotta stop," he mutters, and man he's lucky his dick doesn't know how to use a gun because it's so furious right now that if it did Dean would be dead before he hit the floor.

"I – I know." Sam sounds just as disappointed as Dean is. "Wish we didn't have to."

"God, me too." Dean laughs shakily. Sam's hands are still sitting, warm and heavy against Dean's hips, and he can smell Sam's skin; fresh and warm. It makes his stomach growl, makes him want to lick all that clean sweat off his beautiful little brother and then devour him. This is going to be a lot harder then Dean thought.

"Guess we should just … sleep," Sam says after a minute, finally taking his hands off Dean's body and Dean shivers at the loss. "Dad's probably gonna be hammering on the door before the sun's even up."

Dean chuckles and shakes his head. "We'll still be REM cycling and he'll already have three new leads."

Sam grins and nods. "Yeah. So … I'll just … yeah."

He moves away from Dean, unbuttoning and stepping out of his jeans, and then flopping onto one of the beds. Dean sighs, shifting uncomfortably in his now too-tight jeans. Sam's sprawled over the mattress with his hair splayed like a halo on the pillow, but his cheeks are still flushed and he still looks so sinfully delectable that it's all Dean can do not to just pounce and take him. But he knows he can't. He hates that he can't, but that's how it's going have to be for a while. Dean's happy to have Dad back, he's happy to get to be a part of the fight, even though it's going to be hell trying to keep his hands off Sam. He's gotten really used to the way things have been lately; the way it is when it's just him and Sam and he can touch whenever he wants to.

Sam coughs a few more times and rubs gently at the bruises on his neck, and that makes Dean remember the other thing he needs Sam to do if hunting with Dad again is going to work. "Hey, Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Promise me one more thing, okay?"

Sam's eyebrows scrunch and his head cocks a bit to the side inquisitively. Dean smiles to himself. Secretly, he calls that Sam's professor look. It's kind of ridiculously adorable.

"I get that you didn't want to complain about your neck in front of Dad, and you're right," Dean says slowly. "If he thought you were whining over nothing he'd chew you out. But you shouldn't have lied to me."

Sam blows a quick breath out through his nose and rolls his eyes in annoyance. "It's nothing, I told you. I'm fine."

"I know you are. This time. But even still," Dean insists.

Sam considers him for a few moments, looking like he isn't sure whether or not to argue. It's always a bit of a battle for Sam, whether or not to let Dean take care of him. Dean knows it is. But then he takes a deep breath and nods. "Yeah, I – you're right. Okay." He smiles weakly and then scoots his body under the quilt. "'Night," he adds quietly, leaning off the bed to flick the lamp off and then rolling over to face away from Dean.

Dean heaves another heavy sigh and shucks out of his denim button-up and jeans, and then drops his own exhausted body down onto the other bed. He bounces for a few seconds and then settles, wiggling a little to get comfortabel. He can hear Sam's slow, steady breathing and while that sound usually relaxes him, right now it's too far away to be comforting – it should be right next to him, he should be able to feel the warm puff of Sam's breath on his neck. The blackness in the room seems like it's getting smaller with every blink, swallowing him up. He's exhausted, vampires and the Colt gun and Dad – it was a lot and it's been a really, really long day. Dean's eyelids are heavy and even though he can barely keep them open, his brain is still zinging around from thought to thought like a pinball machine and he can't seem to quiet it down.

It takes Dean about twenty minutes of tossing and turning to figure out the reason why sleep won't come – he's _lonely_, which is just so, utterly ridiculous. He spent years sleeping alone, and now six months back in a relationship with Sam has turned him into one of those pathetic people who can't sleep unless their partner is next to them. He fights with himself for another few minutes, the voices in his head whispering to just suck it up and deal with it. But then he decides he doesn't care. He's had a long, hard day; he deserves to have a good night's sleep. And if he needs to be wrapped around Sam for that to happen, then that's what he's gonna do.

Dean throws the blankets off himself and heaves his body off the bed. He hesitates for a moment, and then instead of climbing in behind Sam he moves toward the end of the bed where Sam's duffle bag is sitting on the floor. He crouches down to riffle through the contents, pulling out Sam's favorite brown hoodie and slipping it on. Sam's right, it is way too big on Dean and that definitely is what makes it so comfortable. But it also has that amazing Sam smell all over it, like grass and sweat and fresh air. Dean stands up abruptly and takes the few steps back towards Sam. He pulls back the blankets and crawls in behind Sam, cozying up against Sam's back and sliding an arm around his thin waist.

"What're you doin'?" Sam mumbles groggily.

"Turns out I can't sleep without your freakishly giant body givin' me heat stroke," Dean answers, feeling more and more like a god-damn chick every second, but ignoring it as best he can and nuzzling his nose into Sam's hair.

"Oh." Sam lets out a sleepy sigh and snuggles back a little into Dean's chest. "Good. Me neither."


End file.
